


There's No Way

by ToWhomItMayConcern



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blood, Confessions, F/M, Mentions of Violence, Requests, injuries, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToWhomItMayConcern/pseuds/ToWhomItMayConcern
Summary: You want to tell him you love him before you die. You want him to know that a stupid bounty shooting you when you clearly had been reckless wasn’t his fault either.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Fem!Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 154





	There's No Way

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe and healthy out there guys.

He doesn’t think he’d seen so much blood from such a seemingly small wound, but it had to be deep from the way the blood pools around your still body.

He also doesn’t think he’s ever panicked as much as he is right now, carefully scoping your semi unconscious form to find the source.

“M-mando,” your lips, terrifyingly pale, form the nickname – or the name he’s ever given you – in a weak manner.

“Shh, save your strength,” he says, working frantically on you; you feel the pressure around your left side, mixed with what is like hard pinches.

It’s hard keeping your eyes open. Your mind feels like it’s enclosed in a deep fog, threatening to pull you under, but you know you have to stay awake. Mando’s voice begs you to but fuck it’s so hard when the fog is so comforting, alluring in such a sweet and hypnotizing way.

And Mando? He’s a mess, and he knows it. He knows you’re so close to closing your eyes and disappearing from him, only remaining in his memories and damn it he refuses that let that happen; to have this be his last memory of you.

The panic increases when he barely sees any color left in you. He sees you struggling to stay awake, probably more for his sake than yours, and he doesn’t care who or what he attracts to get the help you need.

“Y/N,” he’s surprised by how calm he sounds despite the inner turmoil he’s battling in his head. “I have to carry you, find you a healer. Just keep your eyes open and on me, okay?”

You can barely nod, but the small tilt of your chin is all the confirmation he needs that you heard him, and he carefully moves his arms under your limp body, grunting as he hauls you up in his arms as gently as he can.

It still doesn’t stop the pained whine to escape from you though, and it makes his heart lurch at the sound of it.

“I know,” he coos to you, doing anything he can to keep you awake. “Keep breathing baby. Just keep breathing for me.”

It’s the first time he’s ever called you by a pet name as sweet as this. You wish it didn’t take you bleeding out in his arms for you to hear it from him.

But it’s hard to register anything when there’s black dots forming around your eyesight, when it feels like your head is submerged underwater and you’re beginning to drown; a horrible thought occurs to you that you may actually be drowning in your own blood.

You hear Mando call out, flagging anyone down that can save you. You keep your eyes on him, just like he said, and you want to ask him to take his helmet off so you can see the face of the man you’ve been travelling with for so long now; your friend, partner, and the man you hopelessly fell in love with.

You’re about to say his name again when he finally manages to find someone, a healer they say, and quickly urge him inside their home, already scrambling for supplies.

He looks down at you then, making sure you’re still conscious.

“Please don’t die on me, Y/N.” He says to you before settling you down on a hard, flat surface. You barely feel the cold (is it supposed to be this cold?) surface, or his touch now for that matter.

It’s all disorienting, and the sweet, sweet call of darkness was now enveloping you completely. You want to tell him you love him before you die. You want him to know that a stupid bounty shooting you when you clearly had been reckless wasn’t his fault either.

“M- ma…”

You lose consciousness before you can get the name out, feeling a faint heavy press against your forehead.

-

The first sense that comes to you is smell. It’s a lovely smell, an aroma of something sweet and cinnamon. The next smell is leather, powder, a hint of metallic. It’s comfortable, familiar, and brings a warmth to your chest.

It feels like years before your eyes finally crack open. The light is blinding, but for the most part the room you’re in is dimmed, no doubt for your sensitivity.

Your body feels like it’s been hit by a thousand bricks, sore and heavy. You must have made a noise as you attempt to look around, putting pressure in your wrists to do so but it’s too quick to try anything, and then there’s a visor staring right above you, careful not to disturb your injured body.

“H-hi,” you croak, throat scratching like sandpaper.

He doesn’t say anything, just reaches over next to him to hand you a cup of water, helping you up as you wince to reach it. The water is cool and feels like heaven sliding down your throat, and as your eyes start to adjust better to your surroundings you realize that you’re in unfamiliar territory. Mando still stands next to you, watching intently as you start to remember the events that led up to where you’re at now. You scrunch your eyebrows as you look down, lifting your shirt – a new, plain shirt that’s a little too big for you – up to find an ugly scar forming on your side, still pink and healing.

“H-how long was I out?” You stammer.

Mando finally sits down on a chair that sits next to your bed, sighing heavily and leaning his elbows against the plates on his knees. It takes a few moments for him to speak, but you wait patiently, sitting back against the stack of soft pillows behind you.

“Four days,” he answers.

You expect him to say more, but it’s almost as if he can’t.

So you continue to ask him, “How bad was it?”

He audibly flinches, and you start to regret bringing up your gun shot wound, but you need to know just how close to death you were. Just how close you were to losing him; not being able to crack a chuckle or two from him or feel the warmth of his body – despite the cold beskar steel – or to hear his modulated voice call out your name.

“You lost a lot of blood,” his voice interrupts your thoughts. “Y – “

You can practically hear the gulp he has to take to continue, and your heart thumps wildly when you hear the pain in his voice.

“Your heart stopped. I… I thought – “

He shakes his head, seemingly frustrated with himself, and you go to move. To do what, you’re not quite sure, but it’s along the lines of a hug and reassuring promises that you’re okay, you’re alive, he’s alive, in his ear.

But he stops you as soon as he sees what you’re doing, scooting the chair closer to the bed and gently pressing you back down with a hand on your shoulder.

“You still need to rest,” he explains. “The healer, this is their home. We have to leave soon before any hunters find us, and I’d rather not risk the life of the person who saved yours.”

You nod your head, agreeing with every word. You wouldn’t want the person who had already risked everything – unknowingly or not – to save you hurt or worse either.

“I think we can leave tonight,” you say. “Other than the sores and little bit of pain, I think I’m alright to move. But I should do something for them before we leave, to show my appreciation.”

He shakes his head again, ever so stubborn. “I still don’t want you moving too much, Y/N. It’s not safe.”

You decide against arguing with him. He doesn’t relax until you settle in more comfortably on the bed. It’s then you notice the plate of food sitting by your side, still hot and fresh it seems.

Mando notices your gaze and hands the plate over to you, which earns him a look from you. He only shrugs.

“Figures the one thing that would get you up and listening would be food.”

You giggle around the roll of bread you already have stuffed in your mouth. It makes his heart clench, because he could’ve lost that smile, the infectious laughs he grew to look forward to.

It’s comfortable silence as you gulf down the delicious food given to you. He has to tell you to slow down, which you see as reasonable but still give him a small glare. He lets you set the plate down and sit up a little to stretch because he knows that if he pampers you to the point of suffocating, that it will only lead to arguments and that’s the last thing you need right now.

He wants to say something, but he can see the gears turning in your head, your brows scrunched rather adorably.

“You called me baby.”

He freezes. He didn’t think you’d remember so much after waking up, but you continue to surprise him at every turn.

He starts to rack his brain for anything to dispute it, but then what’s the point? He can’t fight or deny his feelings for you any longer, and you died. It would kill him if he never got the chance to tell you he loved you out of fear and his own stupidity.

“I – I liked it,” you tell him when he doesn’t respond. “I-if that’s okay to say.”

It was more than okay. It was everything in his eyes, a step closer to what he wants.

You jump a little when you feel a hand thump against your clothed knee, immediately relaxing at his touch and comforting rubs.

“Okay…” He puts his head down before abruptly looking back up. “Y/N, seeing you like that…. I don’t ever, ever, want to see that again.”

For a second, you fear he is about to tell you that he was going to leave, that he’s changed his mind about letting you travel with him and that he doesn’t feel the same way about you, as silly as the last part sounds with the way he’s practically trembling in front of you. The panic starts to bubble deep in your stomach before his other hand goes to cup your cheek, rubbing your cheekbone with a lover’s caress.

“I can’t lose you. And when your heart – stopped… it’s indescribable. Believe me when I tell you that I love you, Y/N. I will always love you and I want you to take it easy from now, for my sake. Please.”

You replay those three words over and over in your head. It’s like your short circuiting, your heart leaping with joy. 

It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off your chest. When you look at him, you’re no longer afraid of rejection, or losing him forever as a friend.

When you look at him, despite not being able to see his eyes, you know for certain that he’s looking straight at you with the same level of love you’ve been holding for him for so long, and maybe his love is too blinding for you to see now without the protection of the helmet he’s worn for as long as he can remember.

And then he gently, slowly, brings his forehead to rest against yours, hovering over you – which you’re sure is a little uncomfortable for him – placing a hand behind your neck to hold you against him.

“Din,” he whispers softly. “My name is Din, and I want to use my name when we’re alone, because this… this is for us.”

It’s in this that you see your future flashing through your eyes. More years of travelling with him, the first kiss, the first bare touch against yours. The first discovery of the man beneath all of that armor, tracing delicately over the curves of his lips, the wrinkles around his eyes and the bumps of his nose. The first time you both discover each other’s bodies, tracing over every inch of skin and connecting as one. Then lastly, a warm sun baring over the two of you, his palm resting against the new curves of your stomach, smiling so damn brightly that it could destroy the world with one glimpse.

You’re sure, with the way his breath evens out and the way his hands squeeze you with confirmation of your presence and the Mandalorian’s kiss he refuses to back away from because it’s what he’s been dreaming of for so long, that he sees it too.


End file.
